


Snow

by sky_kaijou



Series: Snow / Ecstasy [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Addictions, Drugs, M/M, PWP, Violetshipping, puppyshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 06:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13630629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_kaijou/pseuds/sky_kaijou
Summary: I never thought he’d call me worth it. I guess he only kind of does when he wants something.





	Snow

“I’m not going to drink tonight,” he muttered under his breath as he passed by me and grabbed a glass of champagne off the table where the servers were smiling and bowing as they poured refreshments and made idle chatter with guests.

I followed his lead, grabbing the closest sparkling pink flute glass with a coy smile, watching the bubbles pop as they hit the warm air. I see him sneak off to the side of the room to his bodyguard, Isono and exchange a few words while switching flutes. You’d miss it if you weren’t looking out for it. As he glides across the room to mingle he makes eye contact with me and I pause for a moment as Isono repositions himself, and I tag past the crowd to switch my drink also to a Lemon, Lime, and Bitters, which bubbles a similar hue of pink.

I’m sure this is all going to come crashing to an end but I’m glad it’s not tonight because there’s something about the atmosphere of these business gatherings that feels dangerous and secret. I’m dressed in a crisp, ironed shirt with black dress pants talking to others who wouldn’t flinch at dropping a few million yen on one night’s extravagancies.

If you’d told me six months ago I’d be in this room with an invitation just once, let alone regularly, I would have laughed in your face.

But here I am, employed and well-paid in marketing and socially acceptable enough to attend launch parties for revolutionary technology and video games, while scrubbing up well enough that he wouldn’t be seen dead conversing with me while simultaneously finding me attractive enough to approach me once the crowds have all but dissipated.

Out of the corner of my eye throughout the night I see him sipping on that same glass as he talks in small groups about boring spreadsheets and fiscal years. At some point, he stops and makes a speech, enticing old men in overpriced tailored jackets to clap in admiration, and some of them probably anticipation of the day he’ll finally fall.

I don’t think he will; I think this is just the beginning of his empire.

He’s too careful for a scandal to break. There’s only one person in this entire world that knows the inner workings of his mind and that’s his bodyguard and chauffeur, who has protected him since he was high-profile enough to need it. Isono has never slipped a word out of place and he’s assured me that his only goal is to make sure his “master” is “safe and content.” He never once leaves the corner of the room and never once falters his concentration.

I must admit that he looks good in a suit and I didn’t know I had a preference. When he brushes his shoulder past me he just smells clean and it makes my heart skip, but he doesn’t say a word.

My distraction must have read as an invitation; a guy with wrinkles faint enough to hint that he was barely stepping into his thirties stepped into my personal bubble and got a little close for comfort, ghosting his lips uninvitedly over mine as he said “hey sweetie. You single?” I shot him down and pushed him away lightly and just said “sorry.” I overheard him say to a co-worker as he passed over a thousand-yen bill that he’d try again later. I believe his word of the day was “barsexual.”

If I wasn’t already turned off before, that is certainly not going to entice me to go home with you, so enjoy your stupid bet. I only have eyes for one person in this room.

But I knew I couldn’t clap back and bring attention to myself or I’d miss out on a bunch of fun. We’d had deep conversations about manners, so I’d have to bite my tongue even with jerks like those. Compromises and such. And I knew I was a target of glances all night. So, I busied myself with a group of girls that were always at these launches, prim and proper with bright eyes and great botox; enjoying their giggling as they cleared through cocktails and I nursed the same glass of sham-pane. They were pretty, and would have totally been my type in another life, but it seemed to be enough to keep Mr Thousand-Yen away.

The time was only slowly ticking away and I knew I had to force some more pleasantries before the clock hit midnight and we moved into a dangerous territory.

I mean, I complain about this being torturous for me, but I am so much lower on the social chain. I can only imagine exchanging pleasantries with people who were only after your bankroll would be much more tolerable after a bottle of champagne to loosen your lips, but he chooses to wait for me because apparently the “payoff” is “worth it.”

I never thought he’d call me worth it. I guess he only kind of does when he wants something.

He’s clean about it, always. There’s never anything on him incriminating except for the immediate take. Isono does all the “dirty” work, obtaining and holding the powder on his person. He doesn’t utter a word and has only ever warned him once how to handle his substances, but has never told him what not to do. Mixing with alcohol makes you feel falsely sober, and our premise is to get out of our minds. Also, science says that alcohol causes a toxin that fucks up your brain, liver, and heart and we’re not in positions to ignore such warnings.

But what if we came to a fancy event and “didn’t drink.” Although immune to pregnancy whispers, rumours would still fly and rich people dabble more than we do so they know the tell-tale signs. Nobody’s here to sober drive, that’s what chauffeurs and taxi’s are for. That’s why Isono swaps our drinks. I’ve also come to trust him as closely as Kaiba has in our last…. well, let’s not quantify this experience. Let’s just say it’s been happening for long enough for me to know my place and to recognise the night’s nuances.

Soon, people start filtering out, girls pushed sloppily into the back of limos after two bottles of bubbly. Guys passing on to hostess bars. Caterers grabbing bottles and glasses from the white and blue linen tables and music dulling. Apparently, we’re staying in rooms here tonight, as is custom when we have a function in a KaibaCorp owned function centre.

Kaiba looks around before discreetly passing me and putting a room card in my hand. He silently exits the room and I follow two minutes after, once I know people won’t notice us leaving together.

The first room is only a double room with a bathroom covered in granite. I check the corridor left and right twice before opening the door with the given key card.  I slip in with a silent click, and notice the lights are dim but the bathroom is bright.

Without a word there’s two lines each neatly ready in front of us, with the remnants on a business card acquired over the evening. Seto stands under the bright lights and flicks a zippo, burning the card to pieces, before handing me a crisp ten-thousand yen bill and pausing to make sure I’m okay to go through it.

Yeah, he’s a jerk but his care around this whole arrangement is like somebody completely different is at the helm, and I guess in a moment there will be.

He holds out three fingers, then two, then one, and we both lower our heads and take the line in it’s entirety. The first time I’d done it, we’d both been messy and I could have almost sworn it was his first time too, but I didn’t pry. It’s not my world to pry, no matter how nosy I am normally.

He wipes the counter down and throws the tissue in the toilet before he leaves the room first and heads to a second room just a little further down the hall of the top floor.

I wait again, knowing my concentration is slipping and we’re on bought time. I count the seconds neurotically until the clock hits sixty again and I’m out that door, pulling it closed silently, before tapping his door open six doors down.

The lights are low but I’m finding them a little too bright, and he’s lying on the bed with his top two buttons undone and tie discarded on the nightstand.

He doesn’t even need to entice me. I’m already on top of him, shoes kicked off the edge of the plush bedding. His hands move quickly, although shaking a tiny bit, studiously popping every button open. His lips connect with my flush skin, skating around my neck and I curl into his breath as it ghosts along my collarbone. I’ve distracted myself with his eight shirt buttons, and two on his pants, while he stays pinned to my skin and I know I’m making noises louder than low exhales which seems to encourage him to keep as physically close to me as possible.

I pull back to catch his gaze, and they’re black with a deep blue slither surrounding his pupils. He’s jutting up into me as I run my hands over the rock in his boxers, slacks pooling around his ankles.

He’s telling me to hurry up with a strong hiss, and I’m trying to while refraining from letting him have it ‘as he pleases’ like he does every other time. But who am I to take the lead when I need him all over me and under me just as urgently. I feel the tips of my fingers numb, so I press them into his hips hard, dragging the band of his boxers down with me so there’s streaks of red imprinted into his skin, and once he’s naked he grabs me by my hair and pushes me down to his pelvis and tells me how it’s sexy when I suck him off while looking up at him. I click my tongue at him and bat my eyelids before extending my tongue and licking around his thighs first feeling him squirm. He tells me I’m being a fucking tease and I know. I know.

And I work my way around his balls sitting in a soft bed of brown curls that match his hair, only using the tip of my tongue until I move further up the base and it’s just taught skin and veins that I follow lavishly, stopping just before I find the end of his foreskin, starting again on a different vein. He’s wrapped his fingers in my hair loosely massaging my scalp, and he’s telling me that he’s going to come so hard down my throat which is why I’m taking my time.

I swirl my tongue around his slit that is beaded in semen and that’s the first time he breaks his gaze from me as his eyes flutter and he moans deeply, followed by a breathy swallow of his spit.

I only need to wrap my lips around his head for him to pulse under my lips and I breathe in through my nose as he fills my mouth with semen, swallowing once and giving the now-sensitive tip one thorough lick clean.

He falls back into the pillows but I’m not even close to done, as I work my lips up to his chin, he shudders. My fingers clasp his chin and my index pulls on his lip and I kiss him slowly while I pull my hands away and tug my own clothes away. He doesn’t fight, he’s still responsive to me, lifting off the sheets and into my body warmth.

I roll off his body and grab lube that I know is in his top drawer. It’s difficult to remember to be gentle when he can take the pain now, but I know the morning after hasn’t always been so pleasant and I need to play nice to keep being rewarded. Just a few drops on my fingers to warm before I kneel between his parted legs, rubbing around his gaping pink asshole. He tremors under my touch but encourages me to keep going, vocally.

The room is blanketed in a heavy smell of sweat and it’s driving me crazy. His skin shines from a thin coat of sweat and his hair is sticking to his forehead. I haven’t even touched myself yet, and I’m shaking from animalistic lust. He’s still hard and I know he can go another round because he hasn’t pulled away, so I push in without stretching him because he’s loose from already coming. I’m a little rough and his eyes widen as I press against his prostate. His body quakes and pulls me in, wrapping his legs around mine and pinning me into his body, stuck to the bed, causing me to beg to move.

I stare into his eyes for just moments, and can count his eyelashes and I think they’re pretty. I catch a smirk from him and he whispers that he’s the only one who can please me and he’s not wrong but I can’t let him have that for his ego so I play coy. He’s the only person who I melt into like butter night and night again. He releases his leg grip and lets me thrust, swearing into my ear and making me see flashes of white behind my drooped eyelids.

I dig into his back with my fingers as I rock against his body, moaning his name into his neck as I finally get to come. He clamps hard around me, his own body using mine as a catalyst. I feel him streak our stomachs and I lie there riding out the last few waves, feeling myself drain. We catch eyes again and his are a little less dilated, and I pull myself away, finding tissues beside the bed and using them to dab away at the semen stuck to our stomachs. He rolls over to his side to clean the lube and dripping semen from himself. I quietly step away to the bathroom to wipe myself with a warm damp cloth, bringing one back out after I stare at myself in the brightly lit mirror, freshly dishevelled from another incredible fuck, better than the last as we become comfortable mapping each other’s bodies and preferences.

I raise my eyebrows, and just part with a “can’t wait til next time, baby,” as I pull my pants on and throw my shirt on that’s now ridden with wrinkles. As I hit the corridor, I peer both ways before heading to my own room, much further down the hall. My clothes would give away that I’ve been freshly defiled but they wouldn’t give away by who, and I’m more than happy to keep that my dirty, sexy secret.

I’m thankful Seto can come twice under cocaine’s illusive influence, because our bodies are fixated on each other’s touch and it make us feel like animals. He’s a lot more vocal and attentive and it’s fun to talk dirty with him and growl into each other’s skin. We’ve had sex a few times after alcohol, but they’ve been a lot messier in a multitude of ways. I don’t perform as well and get too sleepy, and once the hangover sets in I tend to have this unexplainable longing to be touched softly the next morning. He tends to shut down a lot quicker and our breaks between are longer. The only withdrawal from snow is a longing for another high and a morning after of slight agitation, but I’ve managed to quell those voices with promises that this is worth it and we’ll end up in each other’s sheets soon enough.

But then, I don’t know if it’s the cocaine that’s the real addiction because I can go for weeks at a time without it. Maybe it’s just the excuse.


End file.
